


Old New York

by korik



Series: She is Mine(to kill) [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Because I suck, Changing Tenses, Gen, Monsters, Plot, Time Skips, Unreliable Narrator, narration is an attempt to show his perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A time skip.<br/>----<br/>There is technically no bucky/nat for much of this series, the idea is that this is tagged as such to say this is the intended end game, and he as the Winter Soldier has been forced to be fixated on her, partially because he wants to save himself/keep himself sane (though he doesn't always realize this, and the narration is intended to reflect that), and partially because its his mission. He doesn't know whether to kill her or sleep with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old New York

For this particular scouting trip, he had elected to become a wolf and, after offering his services to the Beta, was allowed to manipulate his arm into a form most like the one he took though he nearly tore his lip to ribbons in the process required.

His target? Someone his brain knows is familiar when he caught her scent from the clothing they had kept from her quarters, but he _cannot think on her_ _without_ -

She is powerful, a runaway. A traitor. The idea of her terrifies him.

He knows others have been involved in what most of the world knows as The Red, and his packmates call Home. They were bred and born to this elite group, and he knows he should count himself lucky, a stray who happened to be very strong, but very uncontrollable had the Pack not brought him in. The Soldier knows he is a stray, and he is grateful when they remind him of his place - though he sometimes feels it is unwarranted. The nips and buffeting coming at odd times.

A soft whine escaped his shaggy throat, and he continued his paces through the countryside where the sun no longer shone.

It was once called the United States, and at SunFall, it was lucky to still stand. It nearly tore itself apart in the process, many people, despite the country's moniker "United", fought to survive, and pieces of it fell to the primitive side of humanity. It became a festering sore that the Nightsiders fed on, and grew powerful from. Fear and Hope were plagues on the population, and whatever powers remained used them to devastating effect.

He slowed his breakout run to a slow trot, tongue lolling from his mouth as the countryside, with its cracks and upturned forests, semi-permanent foggy skies looking more like a plague of locusts hovering over the mottled skyline of the city that had half crumpled to dust and decay began to break up the silent neighborhoods half burned and torn apart.

They called it New York, but there was no longer anything "New" about it.

Vehicles ran at the behest of the Nightsiders that were in charge now, and local mobsters benefited by working underneath them, and typically under Nightsider supervision. Really, it rather functioned like many other packs he'd had the enjoyment of watching, though here, of all places, they were more inclined to violent outbreaks, and as a result, the beings in charge tended to feed and encourage it.

Criminals and Nightsiders had created an arena on Manhattan Isle, and the normal humans were swept up in it, swept up in their rage and hate, toyed with. The 'coliseum' they had created, however, was a marvel, a strange sort of neutral ground where those feelings of repression lashed out, and those in charge "got what was coming to them."

Officially, the higher ups tended to ignore or silently endorse the project - it kept the people distracted from the real problems of disease, the affliction that ran rampant without a cure, the dreaded affliction of becoming one of the Enemy. One like him.

Through the streets he meandered now, seeing the broken highways and abandoned cars, many of which had been slowly removed in some areas, dismantled where they stood, silent testaments to the event that had changed everything - confirmed they were not alone in the Universe.

The city was a far cry from its supposed human glory back in the forties (what with the cusp of it being on the end of the recession and Great Depression, then they were in the middle of a war), but it had become something quite amazing on its own.

As his claws clicked quietly on the repaired pavement, his ears continued to swivel, listening to the sounds that had buzzed ever so faintly before becoming a dull hum of activity, like he had suddenly dropped into a million farmer's markets all at once, each peddling their well lined wares, and bristling with augmented weapons.

His wolfish snout shook as he chuckled to himself. Such humans to demean the Nightsiders, and then to use what they had brought with them, the things that were changed with the introduction of their abilities and magics.

Indeed, he had seen the human trafficking, but the Nightsider trafficking was just as prolific, as if the world itself was suddenly all for anyone since, decidedly, there were no assurances about who was what anymore, and that apparently made it okay.


End file.
